Strange Things Have Happened Here
by AMerope
Summary: Adrien Agreste has moved to a new home, thanks to his father's health issues due to stress. At first glance the "new" house seems to have nothing to offer except deteriorated walls and odd neighbors, but that all changed when Adrien discovers a strange parallel world behind a mysterious door. While it does offer him something better, Adrien feels there's something else going on.
1. The Move

**The Move**

The movers just got done with putting our belongings in this "new" house. While I don't think it's too bad of a place to live, this house has an eerie feel to it, like it has some kind of shady history. Well, I say house, but seeing as how it's split into three different living quarters, it's better to compare it to an apartment complex, otherwise it would be a mansion.

My name is Adrien Agreste, and I just moved here from Paris. My father, Gabriel Agreste, is a famous clothing designer back there, but his doctor told him to relocate from the city to improve his health from stress. That is the main reason we're here now. My father's assistant, Natalie, and my personal bodyguard are also here with us during our stay.

I know I need to unpack, but I just want to walk around the place to see what it's like. I'll be living here from now on so I might as well become familiar with it. Besides, I've been cooped up in the car for too long. With that, I grab my black hoodie and umbrella on my way out the door.

It's not raining at the moment but that doesn't guarantee that it won't. The dark gray clouds completely hide the afternoon sun, dulling the autumn reds and browns in the trees and shrubbery. I wander up a dirt path leading away from the bare garden, wondering where it will take me. A twig snaps to my right, making me stop in my tracks.

"Hello?" I ask. "Is someone there?"

No answer. It's probably just a squirrel or something like that so I continue on my way. An unearthly yowl shrieks out of nowhere, making me cry out. On the side of the path there's a mangy black cat staring at me, its acid green eyes boring into me.

"Don't scare me like that," I say, a little annoyed.

It keeps staring at me. The longer I look at it, the uglier it gets. Its fur is so short that it barely covers the skin, its tail is bent at an awkward angle, and there are visible scars on its chest and face.

Now it's getting uncomfortable. "What?"

The cat starts walking away from the path into the woods before facing me again. Does it want me to follow it? It's still sitting there so I assume so. Whatever; it's not I've got anything better to do. Once I start moving towards it, the cat starts walking again. I hope this isn't a mistake.

We don't make it very far before I hear something. The closest I can describe it is like a dog whimpering. Is someone hurt? I quicken my pace. They could be in trouble. Past one of the shrubs I finally see where the noise came from. A girl with dark medium length hair is huddled behind one of the bushes. She looks about my age, wearing a red leather jacket with black undertones, jeans, and sneakers. The cat approaches her and starts rubbing its head against her side. She then lifts her head, revealing bluebell eyes as she begins stroking the cat. It was hers then; makes sense. This is awkward. I know why the cat brought me here but what am I supposed to do? I don't know how to deal with this kind of thing. Before I can make my escape however, she spots me, no doubt wondering why I'm here.

"Um," I stammer, trying to figure out what to say. "Are you okay?"

The girl wipes her eyes dry before answering me. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't think anyone came this way."

"Uh, no no," I blurt out. "It's fine. If anything, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," she assures me. "It's silly anyway. I haven't seen you around here before."

"I just moved here," I explain, closing the distance, "so I thought I'd look around."

"Really?" she asks, her face brightening. "From where?"

"Paris."

That seems to take her by surprise. "Wait, seriously?! Why come here, then?"

I chuckle nervously. It's not her fault, it's just weird to talk about. "It wasn't really my idea," I explain, "but I guess it's better than being cooped up in a large house all the time."

"I guess so." She holds out her hand. "I'm Marinette."

"Adrien," I say, shaking her hand.

"Wait," Marinette says, narrowing her eyes at me before gasping. "You're the model in those clothing designer photos, right? I thought you looked familiar."

Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Why did that have to come up now?

"Yeah," I admit. She'll probably find out anyway, so there's no point denying it. "My father insisted on it. Said he couldn't rely on anyone else."

Marinette shrugs. "Makes sense, since he's the designer."

"Right." I look over at the animal that brought me here. "So, who's this?"

"Oh," she says, following my gaze. "This is Plagg. He's not mine, he just wanders around as he likes."

"Oh-kay," I say slowly. It makes sense, given his appearance.

Marinette stands up. "I better get going. My parents will wonder where I am."

"Wait."

She looks at me expectantly.

I did not think this through. "Uh," I get out, "can I … see you again?"

She smiles. "Yeah. I'd like that. Where do you live?"

"Down the hill," I say, pointing in the direction I came from, "at the Papillon."

Her smile falls. "You live there?"

"Yes," I reply, wary at her reaction.

She frowns. "That's strange."

I blink. "What is?"

"Well, my grandma owns the place and lives in one of the dorms," she explains, "and, well, she doesn't ever rent to anyone with kids."

"Why?" I ask.

"I don't know, but she's very adamant about it. I guess your dad had to bribe her or something."

That does sound like him; never listens to anyone and won't take no for an answer. Typical Father.

"Marinette!" someone cries in the distance.

She jumps. "I really need to go. Nice to meet you!" she yells, running deeper into the woods.

"Likewise," I sigh. Just when I find a potential friend, she up and disappears.

I shake my head before heading back the way I came. My father might have noticed that I'm missing. Better not keep him waiting.

Reaching a slight decline, I trip over a rock before rolling down it back onto the path. Great, now I'm covered in mud. Father will definitely be happy with that … not. Just as I'm about to get up and pick up my umbrella, I feel something creak under me. What the? I slap my palm against the ground. Along with the mud, there's something hard underneath that moved beneath my hand. I work quickly to scrape the mud off the ground. It's wood, like some sort of plank. I look through one of the gaps. Nothing. Now curious, I drop a nearby pebble down said hole. For a good thirty seconds nothing happens. Suddenly I hear a distant splash. It's a well. I'm on top of a well! I scuttle off it as fast as I can, my heart in my throat. I almost died. That thought haunts me as the rain begins to fall.


	2. The Door

The Door

I'm officially grounded, thanks to that stunt I pulled yesterday. Natalie instantly noticed how wet and muddy I was and didn't hesitate to tell my father. When he grilled me about it, I admitted that I wandered around the grounds and tripped, but I kept the well part to myself. He'd never let me out of the house again if I told him. Now I'm stuck here for the day, watching the rain and listening to my father talk to clients over the phone.

He groans. "Imbeciles."

I sigh. "I thought the reason we moved here was to get away from the stress."

"I still have a job to do, Adrien," Father insists. "You know that."

I do, but does he have to be in a bad mood all the time? He's been like this ever since Mom disappeared, which was almost two years ago now. I've tried to help, but he won't let me. This is the most we've had to say to each other since then.

"Don't you still have unpacking to do?" Father inquires grumpily.

I sigh again, getting up from my seat. "I'll take care of it now."

Just as I make my way up the stairs, I hear a knock at the door. That's weird. We just moved here, so no packages or anything like that should be coming our way yet. I shrug it off and head to the door. It could just be one of the neighbors. When I open the door though, no one is there. Seriously? Who would ding-dong-ditch someone in the middle of nowhere? But right before I close the door I notice a doll lying on the mat. Even though it's a stuffed felt doll, it resembles me to a T down to the hoodie I wore yesterday. I pick it up. I have to admit, the craftsmanship is incredible; no noticeable seams, no uneven stitches, even the rounded button eyes were in perfect alignment. Honestly, it kinda creeps me out how accurate it is.

"Weird," I comment, taking it into the house with me as I close the door.

I put the doll in my closet shelf so I don't have to look at it (seriously, it feels like it's staring at me), and get to unpacking. The furniture is already set up, so I don't need to worry about that. I decide to tackle the clothing first since I know Father will want me to get back to photo shooting as soon as possible. All of them are on hangers so they won't wrinkle, so I just hang them in the closet.

Next up are my books from school and my homeschooled days. Honestly it was a miracle that I could get into school at all at our old place. Don't get me wrong, I like Natalie, but having her as a teacher doesn't work for either of us. Even if the subject is interesting, she tends to treat it like a checklist, something to just get over and done with.

Lastly are my more personal items, namely my action figures. The Power Players are pretty cool, but my favorites are Ladybug and Chat Noir. They're an incredible team but completely oblivious about one another. Cartoons, right? But Mom loved that show to death which is the main reason I keep them. She said it reminded her of her and Father at that age. What I'd give to see that.

With that, my room is officially unpacked and it's still an hour before lunchtime. May as well tackle a box or two in the sitting room. It's not like anyone else is going to do it right now. Jumping down the flight of stairs, I head over to the room and open one of the smaller boxes. Father would kill me if he knew I went down the stairs like that, but I don't really care at this point. He's a downer about everything anyway, so it's not like it matters. Anyway, the box I opened is full of snow globes my mom collected whenever she traveled. Venice, Rome, London, Paris; she went all over Europe. That used to be part of her job before she had me. I asked her why she stopped several times when I was little, and she always told me that I was her adventure and would always be for the rest of her life. I pause, holding a Cambridge globe. Why did she leave, or rather why didn't come back? I shake my head. I can't think about that right now, not here. I place the globe I was holding onto the fireplace mantle then start placing the rest one after the other. I take a step back to look at my handiwork. Not bad, but Natalie might rearrange them later. Just as I turn around to tackle the next box, something catches my eye; the doll I shoved into my closet is now on the floor beside a large box against the wall.

"How did you get here?" I wonder aloud, picking the doll up. I'm positive I left it in that closet, this shouldn't be possible.

Before I can think about it too hard, I spot something behind the larger box. Behind a layer of the dull gray wallpaper is an outline of a door. Well, I say door but it's about the size of one you'd find on a kitchen cabinet. Where there should be a doorknob is a skeletal keyhole. Strange. Why cover up something like this?

"Hey Natalie," I call, an idea striking me, "where are the house keys?"

"Farthest drawer to the left," she replies from the dining room.

"Thanks," I say, heading to the kitchen.

It isn't hard to find, and despite how many keys are in there finding a skeletal key isn't a problem at all. The grainy texture is a surprise though, as well as the design on the handle. It's three quarters of an inch long with a horse's profile on it. With it I cut around the outline of the door before inserting the key into its hole. I think it's a dumb waiter or something like that, but instead it's a literal brick wall. Probably got sealed when the house got divided. But unless it was a dog door at some point, why is the door this small, and why bother having a lock on it?

Ugh, dinner is torture. No, it's not because the food is bad, but it's because of the atmosphere here. Both my father and his assistant are with me, but are mostly just talking about work and don't even bother to include me. I might as well not be here at all.

"I have scheduled a photo shoot for you tomorrow morning," Father says, finally talking to me.

"Yes, Father." I won't even bother looking at him. We have this "talk" almost every single day, and it's not like he'll listen to me if I don't want to do it.

"And I expect you to stay in the yard at least," he continues. "We shouldn't need to send a search party for you if we don't have to."

"Yes, Father," I say again boredly.

None of us say anything after that as we ate. Actually, I'm not really eating anything. Why can't Father give me the time of day, just once?

He gets up from his chair. "I must get back to work," he says, grabbing his plate. "Do not disturb me."

"Of course not, sir," Natalie replies.

"Good," Father says curtly as he leaves the room.

I sigh. It's no good. Nothing is getting through to him, it's always just work with me as the employee of the month. Five minutes pass, and now I can't take it anymore. "I'm going to bed," I tell Natalie, leaving the room. "Goodnight."

"Adrien-" she calls, but I've already reached the top of the stairs.

Closing the door behind me, I quickly change into my pajama pants, not even bothering to take off my black shirt, and curl into my bed covers. The best I can hope for is that things will be better tomorrow.


	3. The Other World

The Other World

Turns out not eating was a bad idea. I just woke up to my stomach gnawing on itself from the inside. Now I have to get up and dig through the fridge and see if I can find anything, which is where I'm heading now.

Why does everything look so different at night? Even if you know the place like the back of your hand, you still manage to bump into something. I keep hitting the stair rails as I make my way to the kitchen. Hopefully they won't bruise. Once I make it to the fridge, I open it to be partially blinded by the fluorescent light.

Before I can grab anything though, I hear something close by. A pigeon? That's what it sounds like, but … I look over to my left and sure enough there's a bird on the counter. It flies right past my head before I can react and heads into the living room. I follow it, wondering how on earth did a bird get in here. Neither my father or Natalie ever leave the windows open so there's no way it got in that way.

When I make it to the living room the bird flew right into the small door I unlocked earlier. Okay, now I'm confused; there were no gaps or cracks there last I checked, so how… I make my way across the room to open the door.

"How the…" I whisper, not believing my eyes.

The brick wall is gone, replaced by a tunnel as large as the door leading to another one. The tunnel itself is dark but light enough that I can see the other side, like a black light effect. I look around the room. The only one around is the moon shining through the windows. Taking a deep breath, I crawl through the tunnel to the other side.

"What the?" I blurt out.

I'm in the living room again, but this time there aren't any boxes. Framed paintings hang on the walls, furniture placed exactly where we wanted them, and the snowglobes on the mantle exactly where I put them. The lights aren't on in this room but rather the kitchen spilling through the door. What's going on? Then I notice someone humming, coming from the other room, along with the smell of cooking meat. Curious (and maybe a little hungry), I make my way to the kitchen. Turns out the one humming is…

"Father?" I call, his back toward me. "What are you doing here at this-"

"Hello, Adrien," he says, looking at me.

I let out an involuntary gasp. "Who the heck are you?!"

The guy looks like my father, but there are a lot of noticeable differences; his hair is darker, his clothes are still nice but a lot less stiff, but the creepiest difference are his eyes: gold, and are black where the whites should be.

"I'm your other father, son," he says simply.

"That doesn't make sense," I exclaim, getting more and more creeped out. "What does that even mean? And why do you-"

"Look a little different?" the "other" father finishes. "To better suit you, of course."

I don't know what to do or think. All of this is insane. None of it makes any sense. Seriously, what's going on here?

"Would you go get Natalie, please?" he asks politely. "Dinner is ready."

I don't move. At this point, I don't know if I can. This is too weird.

"Go on," the "other" father insists. "She's just in the office."

Finally I get my legs to move almost on their own. Everything is a haze by the time I get to the office, but when I get there it's not any less strange than before. The room itself is dimly lit and reeks of incense and cinnamon with the walls adorned with various paintings like Starry Night, Mona Lisa, even the Lady in Gold. How anyone can call this an office is beyond me. Natalie, or rather the "other" Natalie, is in a precarious yoga position while staring at a painting of a cornucopia full of fruit and vegetables. Her dark hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and instead of a red streak it's purple and yellow green. She's wearing a black tank top that's splattered with paint and knee-high sweatpants in just her bare feet. Her eyes are the same as the "other" father's: black with yellow irises.

"Um, hello?" I say.

She looks up at me and smiles. "Hi Adrien!" she says brightly. "What's up?"

It sure sounds like Natalie's voice, but it's weird hearing that tone from her. My Natalie is way more serious and smiles about as much as my father does anymore. To hear her sound so girly…

I try to get back on track. "It's, uh, time for dinner?"

"Oh great!" she beams, standing up. "Your father makes the best meals. Oh, but first, let me show you something," she says, grabbing my hand. "You'll love this."

She drags me over to what I'm guessing is an easel covered with a sheet. As she pulls it down, I forget how to breathe; it's just like the Lady in Gold painting, but the lady in it is…

"Mom?" I whisper.

"Isn't she gorgeous?" the "other" Natalie asks. "I just had to make this for you. Come on, your father is waiting for us."

She drags me out of the room, but my vision's a blurr. Mom's painting… Do they really know about her? Made for me? This is too much. Before I know it I'm sitting at the table in the kitchen.

Finally, I force myself to take a bite of the food. The mustard chicken is divine. I look up. "Go ahead, son," the "other" father assures me.

Before I can stop myself, I pound into the rest of it before piling my plate with Gratin Dauphinois and Baked Ratatouille. All of it tastes amazing. When I look up again, I notice that the "other" father is staring at me and his plate is bare.

"Are you not going to eat?" I ask.

The strange man chuckles. "I can't help but sample my work as I make it," he explains, "so by the time the meal comes around I'm already full."

"I see," I say, not really believing him.

"Do help yourself to anything you like," the "other" Natalie says, piling every single dish onto her plate. "The baked Camambert is especially good with pears. Oh, the onion soup is delicious."

"Slow down," I tell her. "I'm still on my first plate."

As soon as I finish what's on my plate, the "other" father takes my plate away, setting a sugar-dusted chocolate cake in its place. Before I can say anything, the words "Welcome Home" appear as if written by a finger. Okay, first of all, how did that happen, and secondly…

"Home?" I ask.

"Yes," the "other" father answers. "We've been waiting for you."

How is it that I keep getting confused? "What do you mean?" I continue. "Why? Why me?"

"Why not?" he asks me back. "If it is within your power, why not make someone happy?"

He's got me there. "Maybe," I say aloud, "but I still don't get what you mean by 'other father'."

"Well, to put it simply," the "other" father explains, "this is the Other World, and it easily suits your needs. Everything that is wrong in your world is set right here."

"How?"

"Who knows?" he shrugs. "Anyway, after you're finished eating, I thought we'd play a game." His finger begins tapping the table, kind of like a reactive tick.

"Like," I say slowly, "what? What kind of game?"

"Whatever you like," he says, the tapping getting faster.

Now I'm getting nervous again. What is with this guy? "Actually, I should get to bed," I say, getting out of my seat. "I'm just really tired."

"Oh," the "other" father says, looking a little crest-fallen. "Alright then."

"Of course," the "other" Natalie says, making her way to the "other" father. "There will always be next time."

The "other" father takes her hand. "Right you are, dear."

"Okay," I say, making my way out of the room without making it seem like I'm escaping, "I'll just-"

The "other" Natalie grabs my shoulder. "I hope you don't mind us escorting you to bed."

"That's fine," I insist, trying not to be obvious to get free. "You don't have to-"

"Just to say goodnight," the "other" father says, now on my left. "It's no trouble at all, really."

I bite my lip. Looks like I've got no choice. We head upstairs where "my room" is, all the while I'm trying to find a way out of this. Am I stuck here? Once the door is open, I can feel my jaw drop. All my posters are on the walls, my figurines are alive and in character, and my bed covers are unpacked and on my bed. I make my way to the bed and get under the sheets. I look over to the doorway, and the "other" father and Natalie are still there staring at me.

"Um," I stammer, "could I have some privacy, please?"

"Of course, son," the "other" father says, backing out of the doorway.

"Goodnight, Adrien," the "other" Natalie says as she closes the door.

I guess I must have eaten more than I thought, as I can barely … keep … my eyes…


	4. The Neighbors

The Neighbors

Slowly, I blink my eyes open. Looking around, I see I'm back in my original room; no moving figures or hung posters here.

"I guess it was a dream," I think aloud, honestly relieved.

There were some cool things there, sure, but the place itself and whoever was over there was way too creepy. Just to be sure, I check the door. Yep, still bricked up. With that out of the way, I get dressed and head downstairs for breakfast.

In the kitchen, Natalie is already on her laptop at the table, probably organizing Father's latest project. With everything that's going on, he'll need her more than ever. Not wanting to disturb her, I go straight for the fridge.

"Good morning, Adrien," Natalie says curtly. Guess I've been spotted. I should've known.

"Good morning," I reply, getting the creme out for chocolate dip. "Where's Father?"

"In his study," she responds without even looking at me, "but I advise you not to disturb him. He's had a very trying move."

I nod, pouring the creme into a bowl before adding the chocolate powder. Even before we moved, he's always been obsessed with his work and hiding in a personal spot. Some things don't change, I guess.

"He told me to tell you that your photo shoot isn't until lunchtime," Natalie tells me as I dip a croissant into my dip, "so you have some free time before then."

"Alright," I say once I swallow my food.

I have no intention of staying in the house all day like yesterday. I'm dying for fresh air, so I head outside, but as soon as I get out the door I almost trip on some small packages. Curious, I pick them up.

"Ramier," I read aloud. I look at the next one, "Ramier," again. Next up, let me guess, "Ramier." Surprise, surprise.

Wait, what is that weird smell? I sniff one of the packages and instantly recoil in disgust. It smells something like foot fungus in sweaty socks and gym shorts. Who'd order this?! I look around the porch until I see a wooden sign saying "Ramier" with an arrow pointing up the stairs. That's right, we live in an apartment complex. I almost forgot about that.

Eager to be rid of the smell, I head up the stairs to the next floor. The stairs and railing are made of metal and very old, making it rickety and squeak a lot. Once I reach the door, I knock. No answer.

I knock again. "Hello? Is anyone home?" I ask.

As I lean against the door to listen for anything, said door suddenly swings open, making me lose my balance. Now my nose is itching something awful as a loud fluttering echoes around the room, making me sneeze like crazy. Looking up, I find myself greeted by a huge flock of birds. Just my luck.

"What the heck?" I exclaim as I get to my feet. "Who-" another sneeze, "lets their birds roam a-" and another one, "the room?"

"Excuse me!"

I jump, turning toward the voice behind me. He is a man in his late thirties with thin features and huge eyes. He's wearing a gray suit and hat with a big blue bowtie. The oddest thing about it all was that he's perched on the side railing like some kind of animal. If not for his stern expression, I'd probably laugh.

"It's rude to spy on others," he says as he closes the door before going back to his perch, rolling the "R" when he says "rude".

"Sorry," I say, remembering why I'm here. "Our mail got mixed up, so I came to give it to you."

His expression softens as he takes the offered packages. At least he does that like a normal person. He sniffs the packages deeply as if savoring the stench, much to my disgust. How can anyone like that smell?

His brow furrows. "Very clever," he says, his face now only inches from my own, "using this mix up to peek at the pigeons."

"No, I didn't-"

He suddenly chuckles. "I only jest," he says before his smile disappears, "but seriously, they aren't ready yet, young man."

"Right," I comment, not sure what else to say. "Well, I'm Adrien Agreste."

"And I am the Spectacular Ramier," he says, balancing on the rail with one foot and tucking his hands towards his armpits like chicken wings. "But you may simply call me Ramier or Pigeon, because I already know I'm spectacular."

I don't even know what to say anymore. What can I say? This guy is completely out of it, off in his own little world.

"The Flying Pigeon Spectacle still needs something to give it that special 'umph' to it," Ramier goes on, talking with his hands as he does. "It's fine now, but still not quite spectacular, so I give them stronger bread with a hint of fermented aged Camembert." He hands me one of the packages. "Have a sample. That'll put hair on your chest. Aur revoir, Aaron," he says before disappearing behind the door.

I sigh. "It's Adrien,"

I sniff the package again. Yep, just as bad as before. Once I make it to the bottom of the stairs, the package goes straight to the outdoor trash bin. I wouldn't touch that even if you paid me.

"Well, that was interesting," I say to myself absently.

"Adrien," someone says, falling right in front of me.

I jump, making a pretty undignified squeal. Ramier again? What is his deal?

"Hush!" he whispers, covering my mouth. "Not so loud!" He pulls me behind the bushes next to the house. "Listen, the pigeons want me to give you a message."

I remove his hand from my mouth. "What-"

He pulls me so close to him I can see my own reflection in his tiny irises. "Listen carefully," He looks around to make sure no one is around before whispering directly into my ear, "stay away from the small door. Only a trap awaits."

I gasp. How could he know about that? "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Ramier says, "I'm just the messenger, but the birds are never wrong!"

I shake my head. "It's bricked up. I checked myself, no one can get through it."

Ramier hums, stroking his lip with his thumb. "While the pigeons are never wrong, they do have a tendency to mix up the details." He gets up and walks out of the bushes. "That must be what's happening, because they even got your name wrong. They call you Adrien instead of Aaron for some reason. Oh well," he shrugs, grabbing the rail above him and swinging himself on top of it.

I just sit there, staring at him. Despite what he thinks, those birds did get my name right. How did they know that? It was a dream, wasn't it? Also, "What's going on here?"

I still have some time on my hands, so I may as well visit the other neighbors. Mr. Fu and Mrs. Dupain live just below us. All I know is that Mr. Fu is some kind of collector while Mrs. Dupain is the landlord of the entire building. Why they live together, I have no idea. With that in mind, I head down the stairs to their doorstep. Almost as soon as I knock on the door, Mr. Fu answers it. The top of his head is bald, but still has hair on the rest of it as well as a goatee. He comes up to my chest with his hunched stance. He's wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and carries a cane.

"Hello," he greets me warmly. "Nice to finally meet you, Aaron."

"Adrien," I correct him politely.

"Gina, put the kettle on!" Mr. Fu shouts back into the house. He now gestures for me to follow. "Just right this way."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't two different decor styles clashing in the same place. One side of the room is covered in beautiful Chinese silks and porcelain while the other end has licence plates, hub caps, and various motorcycle posters all over the walls. One thing's for sure: I am never showing this place to my father if I can help it.

"Gina," Mr. Fu calls, "we have a guest."

"Oh?" a woman's voice says back. "Who is here?" she asks, peeking through a doorway.

Okay, Mrs. Dupain is definitely not what I expected at all. She's a tall woman with gray pixie-cut hair and large amber eyes. She's wearing red jeans, a black leather jacket, and fingerless gloves. How old is she again?

"It's our new neighbor, Aaron," Mr. Fu says as I wave at her awkwardly. I won't even bother correcting him anymore. "Serve the oolong."

Mrs. Dupain shakes her head. "No no, I'm sure he'd prefer raspberry leaf instead."

"Gina," Mr. Fu warns, "it's the oolong."

"Raspberry leaf it is then," she says, heading back into the other room. "I'll be right back."

Mr. Fu rubs his eyes while I just shrug. Personally I don't really like oolong tea, so I'm not really upset about the mix-up. He gestures me over to a floor cushion next to a really low table. Once I sit down, I can't help but stare at the wall next to me. Literal stuffed animals are grouped together in what could be described as a herd. Each of them are a different species: an ox, a sheep, a peacock, a fox, a couple of insects; I could go on, but I think I made my point. What really puzzles me is the small Chinese dragon perched on the pig's head. The scales, claws, and teeth look so realistic.

"Are all of those … real?" I ask.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Mr. Fu says as he takes his seat. "Don't worry, they're very well preserved."

That doesn't really answer my question, but now he's going on a tangent about family history. I try to keep up, but now he's talking so fast I can barely understand him. Does he even know I'm still here?

"There you are, dear," Mrs. Dupain says, setting down a couple of teacups onto the small table.

"Oh, thank you," I say politely.

She examines me before saying, "You're that boy Marinetta met the other day, aren't you?"

"Oh, Marinette, yeah. We met for a little while," I remember. I almost forgot she's her grandmother.

Mrs. Dupain frowns as she continues to stare at me. Now it's up to the point of being uncomfortable. I start scooting away from her as Mr. Fu babbles on. Did I say something wrong?

"I can read them for you, if you like," Mr. Fu suddenly says.

Wait, what? "I'm sorry, what?" I ask.

"Your tea leaves," he explains. "They will tell me your future."

"Oh," I say, "um, okay."

I guess that explains why he wanted to use oolong tea. Could this day get any weirder? Ignoring their stares, I start drinking out of the teacup.

"Slowly, please," Mr. Fu cautions. "Otherwise you'll drink up the leaves."

I promptly slow down.

"There you go," Mr. Fu says. "That's better."

I hand him the cup and watch him swish it around. Suddenly his eyes widen and holds it as far away from his face as possible. That can't be a good sign.

"Oh Aaron," he whispers. "My dear boy… You are in terrible danger."

My throat goes dry. Another warning. What is happening? Seriously, what's with all the cryptic messages?

"Let me see that," Mrs. Dupain demands, grabbing the mug as she stands behind Mr. Fu. She pales. "That is not good."

"What?" I ask, barely noticing my voice hitch. "What do you see?"

"A clawed hand reaching out," Mr. Fu replies ominously, "waiting to catch its prey."

First Ramier and now this? I didn't tell anyone about last night, so they can't possibly know what's going on. There's something off about this whole thing.

"Any… suggestions?" I ask feebly, trying not to show it get to me.

"Be careful where you tread," Mrs. Dupain warned. "Not everything is as it seems."

Okay, that's it, I'm out. This is getting too creepy. Besides, I think it's about time for me to get going anyway.

"Well, uh, thanks for the tea and advice," I say as I make my way to the door, "but I gotta run. Photo shoot, you know."

"Oh, of course," Mr. Fu says, a little taken aback. "You are welcome anytime."

As I turn a corner, I hear Mrs. Dupain say, "If that boy brings Marinetta into whatever that is, I kill him."

"Gina!"

"I will!"

Once outside, I check my phone for the time. Yep, it's time to go. Thank heaven. For once I'm looking forward to the shoot. What does all that cryptic stuff mean? Did that mean last night was… No, it's just a dream; a one time thing. It has to be. With that in mind, I get in the car and my bodyguard drives us out of the neighborhood.


	5. The One Day in Town

The One Day in Town

If you do something long enough, you're bound to get tired of it one way or another. I've been here at the park for almost an hour and I haven't had lunch yet. Somehow, my father managed to have our photographer from Paris come here to do my, well, photo-shots. He must get paid well doing this, I guess. Thankfully he's trying to find replacement batteries for his camera right now, so now I can give my face a break (seriously, my cheeks are killing me from smiling so long).

"Adrien! Hey!"

I turn. Marinette is waving at me as she rides her bike towards me. Today she's wearing a white t-shirt with a black over-shirt, pink capris, and ballet flats. What? My father's a fashion designer. How wouldn't I know this stuff?

"Hey!" I greet back. Honestly, I'm so glad she's here now. "What brings you here?"

"Just coming back from a delivery," she replies. "My parents run the bakery here."

"Really?" I say, trying not to sound too eager. Stomach, whatever you do, just keep quiet.

"Yeah, it's pretty popular here in town," she says with pride. "We get a lot of customers. How about you?"

"Photoshoot," I say, gesturing to the photographer, who is now replacing his batteries. "Even here, my father insists on us working when he should be relaxing."

"Can't sit still, huh?" she giggles.

That makes me chuckle. "Nope." My stomach now decides to grumble very loudly. Ugh! Why does this have to happen now?! "Not even for a meal," I grunt under my breath. Hopefully, she didn't hear that.

She giggles again, sounding a little nervous this time. "Do you, uh, wanna get a croissant or something, with me, when you're done?"

Wait. Did she just ask me out? Dude, focus. I barely know her, and friends hang out all the time. No need to make this weird.

"Yeah," I say, "I'd like that."

Before either of us can say anything else, the photographer says, "Chico, positions!"

"Gotta go," I say, heading over to the fountain. "I'll see you in a bit, 'kay?"

"I'll be right here," Marinette says, waving at me.

Somehow, the photo-shoot is easier after all that. Is it because of the break, the promise of food, or… Who knows, really?

Turns out Dupain Bakery is a dual bakery and house. It definitely makes it convenient to run quickly. Honestly, it's a lot fancier than I expected, and the pastries are beautiful. Everything from croissants, tartes, and macarons of every color line the displays. In the end, I order a quiche and tarte aux myrtilles (blueberry tart). Still taking in the surroundings, I sit at one of the tables by the entrance with Marinette sitting across from me.

"What do you think?" she asks, taking a bite out of her tarte framboise (raspberry tart).

"I like it," I say. "It's nice."

I mean that. It's not fancy like a five star restaurant, but it's a tidy, welcoming kind of place. Not just that; it also has this good feeling about it that I can't really describe, like that feeling you get when you get when you're back home. That's what it feels like here, but I don't know how to say it without sounding dumb.

As I take a bite of my quiche, my mouth explodes with flavor; the egg, cheese, and ham blend perfectly together. No wonder this place is so popular. If all their pastries are like this… I start shoving the whole thing into my mouth.

"Can't get enough, huh?" Marinette laughs.

I'd laugh too, but I don't want to spit anything on me. Managing to swallow my food, I say, "Sorry. It's just that good. Seriously, what do you put in these?" I ask, trying my sweet tart.

"There's no secret ingredient if that's what you're asking," she replies with a smile. She's quiet for a little bit, then says, "I think how it's made makes the difference."

"What do you mean?" I say. Is there some cool technique they use?

"Well, my parents and I love doing this," Marinette explains. "We like the smiles people make when they eat our pastries. I hope to do the same thing with fashion designing."

"You're into fashion design?"

"Yeah. I design and make my own clothing and accessories. Sometimes I take requests and make things for other people too."

I chuckle. "I guess that explains how you're familiar with me and my father."

She shrugs. "Sure. I guess you could say that."

I smile. I'm starting to like this girl more and more. Smart, talented, kind, cute- wait, what am I doing?!

"Anyway," Marinette says, "how's your house?"

"Okay," I shrug, grateful for the distraction. "You're grandma seems … intense."

She giggles. "Yeah, she's pretty protective of me." Her smile falls as she whispers, "I've never been in that building."

"Really?" I ask. "Even though your grandma lives there?"

"Really. It's weird, but she always has some excuse or other for me to not go. Mainly that she thinks it's dangerous.

"Apparently, a woman disappeared around there two years ago, and long before that there were reports of kids who lived there going missing. The only one who didn't, ran away from there and never came back, and that was almost forty years ago."

Wait, two years ago? That was when my mom left. Could it be… No, that has to be a coincidence. It could've been anyone.

"Did anyone figure out what happened?" I ask, my full attention on her.

"I don't know," Marinette admits. "It's an ongoing debate since if any of it is true since no one knows who the kids were or if they existed at all. The case went cold when my grandma was a girl."

"What do you think?"

She shrugs. "It could be true, I guess, but at the same time it just sounds a little too far fetched."

I'm not so sure about that. Is this what all of my neighbors keep warning me about? Does this have anything to do with my dream? Ugh! This doesn't make any sense. What is going on?

Marinette suddenly gasps. "Sorry! I didn't mean to freak you out! You just wanted a break, and here I am mess-"

"No, no, no, it's okay," I interrupt before she can talk any faster, taking her hand, "it's fine. Just, thanks for telling me, and for asking me out."

Her face turns as red as the berries on her tarte. "Y-you're welcome."

Uh-oh, did I say something wrong? Before I can ask, a car horn goes off. Looking out the window next to where we're sitting, I see my bodyguard behind the wheel of the limousine.

I sigh. "I better go," I tell her as I get out of my seat. "Thanks again. Let's do this again sometime!"

My bodyguard hits the gas almost as soon as I'm buckled in. It's been an interesting day, to say the least. Something weird is going on around my house and the only ones who think so are crazy. Does that mean I'm going crazy? Only one way to know for sure. Time to go to the Other World and let the dreams begin.


End file.
